


Behind us

by The_Only_Charlie



Series: The Battle of Austerlitz [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Feelings Realization, Fix-It of Sorts, Hopeful Ending, Idiots in Love, John Watson In Love, M/M, Mary Morstan is Not Pregnant, POV First Person, Pining John Watson, Tarmac Hell, The Tarmac Scene (Sherlock), but you'll be happy about it, imaginary kiss, you will bleed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23704945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Only_Charlie/pseuds/The_Only_Charlie
Summary: Good old Tarmac Scene but this time John knows he's in love with Sherlock. One shot with possible continuation.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: The Battle of Austerlitz [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903648
Comments: 20
Kudos: 36





	Behind us

You hug Mary. Not awkwardly. No, it is a genuine hug. You say something about keeping me in trouble but I can't hear it due to the wind blowing in my ears.

You like her, don't you? It was always a mystery to me. You never liked my girlfriends before, you found them stupid, never really bothered to remember their names. But it was somehow different from Mary, wasn't it?

Is this because she took care of me when you were gone? She took care of a dog you left while going on vacation, that's something you can be grateful for. That was it. All this time, it was you being grateful to Mary. Grateful for keeping me alive? No, I wasn't alive. I was just existing. Of all people, you should know the difference.

When you came back, did you expect me to run into your arms and pretend that for 2 years I didn't go through hell? Let me tell you- the moment you jumped off that damn roof... Jesus, Sherlock.

You left me in pieces there, Sherlock- in the middle of the street, in front of St.Bart's Hospital. Your body hit the ground and I shattered like a mirror dropped by a clumsy crew of movers.

_All the king's horses and all the king's men_

_Couldn't put me together again_

But Mary put me together again; slowly, day by day, month by month until the only thing that reminded me of this bloody day was just a giant hole in my chest. Sometimes, when it was pretty windy in London, you could hear a funny whistling sound that air made when passing through it. Funny...

And you were leaving me again, shattered. This time I shattered the moment you blew Magnussen's head off. Everyone could hear it- anti-terrorists, Mycroft all of them heard a loud bang. Was it my heart or bullet exiting the barrel, the pressure of the explosion suddenly released? You said Mary was safe now, was it all about Mary? Was it worth it in the end? My hands in the air, eyes focused on you. Oh Christ, Sherlock, what have you done?

You look at me now and I try not to look like I am about to have a full panic attack at the thought of you disappearing from my life again. I even smile. See? I am getting better at pretending I am okay...

You don't smile back, you look at Mycroft asking about some privacy with me. He looks surprised but doesn't question it.

My hands are sweating and I don't know why there might be so many reasons. I am nervous and afraid.

You are my best friend, someone I would die for, someone I would kill for but you know that. I already did it after knowing you for less than 24 hours. Who does that? Now you killed for me, at least that's what I can assume, which is based on your twisted logic. This is insane. All of it is.

Mary and Mycroft move to the side, to not interrupt us. Our last conversation- that's what you said. After that, I will never hear your voice again. The thought strikes through my head like the bullet that killed Magnussen. Suddenly I can't make myself look at you, damn it's hard. I can't understand why we should get used to goodbyes by now.

I take a step closer, we are out of earshot which should be comforting if I actually knew what to say to you. What do you say to the person you are seeing for the last time?

Well, it depends.

I can apologize- no, I have nothing to apologize for. Maybe for the punches, I gave you when you came back? I never said sorry for them... but it doesn't matter, not now at least.

You already know that I care about you, that you are my best friend. No, let's not state the obvious, you don't like it. Sentiment.

I sight looking at my shoes, all of a sudden they are good enough target to look at. You clear your throat, maybe to get my attention. Oh, you always have it, you are aware that I can't ignore you for too long even if I try.

I remember all the times I did try to ignore you when we were lacking case (well... you were), your anger, desperation in voice begging for murder, for a robbery, anything that can be solved. That's when you were the weakest, hunger for nicotine and other drugs taking control over you.

Until yesterday I thought this is the most human I saw you. As I stood next to that white, freshly cleaned sofa I saw you on the screen, digging me up from under the bonfire, not caring about the flames around us. My heart skips a beat when I remind myself of a fear I was experiencing then. No, John, this is not the time.

But I allow my thoughts to wander, this is better than actually acknowledging that I am never going to see you again.

You say my name and I can't resist. I look at you and just like that I am not able to look away. Your lips are curved into a little smile that does not reach your eyes. You want to say something that makes me smile, that's a good strategy. Good. Make me smile, Sherlock. Please, because I am confident that when the plane takes off I will never smile again.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes."

I raise my brows.

"Beg your pardon?"

"That's the whole of it. If you would look for baby names in the future."

I let a little chuckle escape through my lips.

You have no idea. For the very first time, you are clueless about something and for the very first time, I wish you weren't.

We had a row yesterday. I blame her for your departure and I am not sure if I can ever get over it. Pissed not even certain about what... I guess nothing particular and everything in between.

Or maybe you know? You know we fought, deduced it by the way we left the car, closed the door or by the scent of my cologne. Well, that is possible.

Are you telling me I shouldn't blame her? That after you leave I should give Mary a second chance and have children with her?

Of course, you know. How naïve of me to think that you don't...

Do you know I thought about divorce in the middle of the night? About leaving her and going with you, wherever it would be? Of course, you know.

I was lying on my back, looking at the ceiling with such intensity like I could see a room above me if I concentrated hard enough. I was thinking about things that happened for the last few weeks. I was thinking about you. I tend to do that when everything around me is overwhelming. I imagine you just laying beside me with your eyes on the same ceiling as mine, not saying a word to me. It's comforting, you know? Your presence.

You are my mind palace. I am too stupid to actually come up with someplace so I came up with the most intelligent person I know. You help me with my problems, anything that leaves your mouth sounds clever and more accurate.

I tell you about the divorce, you are not surprised. Of course, you are a flicker of my imagination.

I don't think I can ever forgive her for putting you in this position, for shooting you.

"I would be in this position anyway, John. I had a case," I flinch. Why are you justifying her actions?

"No, you wouldn't. We were in his office, for fuck's sake, you proposed to get in there and if it wasn't for Mary, we would've known the letters weren't in the safe. We would've left, you wouldn't have been shot. Everything went awry because she didn't want her lies to resurface."

"I had no idea he had a mind palace, _that_ was the issue. I... miscalculated when I asked him to invite me to Appledore," your long fingers put in pyramid shape under your chin. I am irritated, you don't get my point. Which means I am conflicted with myself. "You know me, I like to win, outsmart people, keep my brain occupied, I would never let this case go. Even before you found me undercover I already was working the Magnussen's case out. I was obsessed. All of it would end in his house one way or another."

"You made her come to us for help, she became our case, that's what pushed you over the edge." 

Her words from Leinster Gardens resonate through my skull.

 _John can't find out. It'd break him._ Well, it did break me in some way but didn't leave me shattered. I can still walk, isn't it great?

You divert your eyes to me, you never do that.

"I have done that in the past, ready to give up my life for the truth, do you remember? Study in Pink as you call it" you throw your hand dismissively in the air as a sign how dumb you think this title is. But I know you like it, you wouldn't remember it, if you didn't like it. Because that's what you do with unnecessary information, you delete it. "I risked my own life to prove I am the smartest in the room. That's what I do and there is no one else to blame, especially not Mary."

You narrow your eyes at me and all I can do is stare. Your curls are spread all over the pillow, grey, like the clouded sky above London, eyes focused on me... or not? You look at the ceiling again and I sight at the view of your profile. You are simply beautiful and I can't say it out loud. These words won't leave my mouth. Maybe that's what I should tell you before I never get to see you again? That I find you beautiful?

"She lied to me," I whisper.

"I lied to you too."

But we are not married, Sherlock.

"What's the difference?" your question is serious, not a single note of sarcasm in your voice. Sometimes I forget you are not real.

"You never vowed me anything. You always made sure I know how you are and who you are."

"I did make a vow, killing Magnussen was me keeping it."

I was mad at you when it turned out that there was no physical manifestation of Appledore. You seemed defeated, without a plan... Were you planning on killing him from the start? When you asked me to bring my gun you knew he will end up dead or was it just a precaution?

You close your cupid bow-shaped lips and look at my side of a ceiling. You are thinking, which means we both think, laying next to each other.

We float in the silence violated only by the sound of our breaths. I could stay like this forever, with you by my side.

"We already had this conversation. You chose her. You will forgive her eventually. It will take time for you to trust her again but you will. You'll need someone when I am gone, John... And of course, you won't look at the memory stick she gave you, no, you prefer not to know."

"Is that a bad thing?" you smile, I already know what you are going to say.

"You ask the wrong person, I was ready to die for the truth."

"And the truth almost killed you," I point out as your smile grows bigger. You turn on your right side.

"Oh my dear John, I'm going to miss you."

I hold my breath when I feel your hand close to mine, our pinkies almost touching. You know I am going to miss you too but you don't want to hear me say it. Our fingers are intertwined and I am not sure who made a move but since it's all in my head I don't give it a second thought.

I sometimes contemplated about you in not so platonic way.

Mainly in those little moments, we shared. Do you remember watching the stars...

"John, you are stupid," you interrupt my train of thoughts, "do you really think it was all about Mary? Can't you remember what Magnussen said? Pressure point. You are my pressure point."

Everything stops around me. I suddenly don't want to talk about Mary, about marriage, my head starts to hurt. Divorce?

"Divorces are boring, John."

I can feel your forehead pressed to mine. _Oh, Sherlock_. Your breath tickles my bottom lip so I bite it, trying to control my loudly beating heart, for nothing of course. Your scent embraces me like a cocoon I can't and don't want to leave.

Tea, chemicals, rosin, old wood- you smell like a basic morning at 221B Baker Street. Violin under your chin, putting rosin on the bow's hair. You are about to play, yet you left safety goggles on your head, maybe for further experiments. You take a sip of your tea I made you before classical music fills the room. I read the paper, check the blog for the cases, it's just us on Baker Street. No one else.

Then out of nowhere, I feel your lips pressed to mine. They are warm and soft, a little wet. My hands sink in your hair, pulling dark curls to reduce the distance between us. I don't allow myself to think about kissing you too often because I am afraid that if I do, my brain will start to hope for it to happen. And it won't.

I recall that the first time I saw you kissing- it was with Janine. I was shocked to the core and couldn't make myself look at you. I looked away. I had seen people kissing before but it never made such an impact on me. Was it because I never assumed you might be in a relationship? Like a normal person... Feel affection for someone other than... No, I can't think like that.

 _Jealous_ ? I can hear the voice of **the woman**. No.

But it wasn't love, it was for the case. I think the closest you've ever been to being in love was with Irene Adler. Even the thought of her hurts me, more than the thought of you kissing Janine. How is that possible? To be hurt by a single thought.

"I was never in love with her," you still look at the ceiling and I feel cold all of a sudden.

But you felt something for her, she intrigued you, kept your brain engaged. You knew she was trouble.

"Well, it seems like you are not the only one who is addicted to dangerous people and situations."

I cover my face with an arm. I started thinking about divorce and here I was, an hour later wondering if you ever loved **the** woman. Is this how your mind works but fifty times faster? I am already going mad.

I was supposed to think about what to tell you tomorrow. Right. Right...

I look around, there is nothing I can say, that I am _able_ to say. So I go with it.

"You know, actually, I can't think about a single thing to say," I don't look at you anymore and so do you. We escape with our eyes somewhere over the area of the airport. This is so bad and awkward I just wait for the ground to swallow me whole. I should look at you, remember every curve of your face and every thread of your clothing, its colours. I should make you talk, just to hear your voice.

But I don't have to, I already know and remember all of the above.

"No, neither can I."

I think about your name. William is a nice name, you never told me that Sherlock isn't your first name or why you never use it. Is it too _basic_ for your liking? _William_. I would like to call you that when we are alone, it feels personal. But you are leaving and I will never call you by your real name. Shame.

"So what about you, then? Where are you going now?"

Just a simple question and only God knows how much every word of it costs me. I dig a non-existing hole in the ground with my shoe. I really can't look at you, I hope you understand how nervous I am.

"Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe," it sounds like you are telling me about leaving for a holiday so I look up at you, looking at me. You feel uncomfortable too.

What are we doing Sherlock? We are never going to see each other again, why are we doing this? For God's sake, we are fucked up.

"For how long?" I have to ask.

"Six months, my brother estimates. He is never wrong."

Well, that is not bad, not that bad at all. And just like that hope flickers in my chest ready to flood my whole body and mind. I even smile, you smile back.

"And then what?" I want to hear you saying that you will come back to me but as soon as the question leaves my mouth your face drops and I feel like looking at the mirror. You are not going to make it, are you? Jesus Christ. "Who knows?"

The sorrow is overwhelming. You are not coming back at all. But I don't want to see it, so I purse my lips in a thin line and look around again. I feel like every organ inside me falls to the ground and I ask myself how the hell I am still standing. It's hard. But I guess you need me now just as much as I need you so I turn to face you. Something is stuck in my throat and I can't speak.

I take a deep breath and my thoughts from the other night keep coming, I can't stop them.

I am scared, Sherlock. I need you here, with me. I will divorce, I will move back to Baker Street. I will do anything. I am desperate.

You can see what I am going through, you can read me like an open book. But at the same time, I think you have no idea what is on my mind. I expect you to frown in a second because you don't understand, do you? You never really got it. Feelings. Human error as you said in the elevator. Is this what you think? If yes, how do you explain me being your pressure point? Oh, Sherlock, _I_ don't understand, I am not that clever.

I finally open my mouth, I am not sure which words are going to leave them but I do it anyway. It's okay, Sherlock. I've come to terms with my feelings towards you. It's okay, even if I am just a friend to you...

But is it just a friend when it comes to you? You don't like the thought of having a _friend_... or at least that's what you used to say. But then you call me that. Isn't it a compliment when someone who is constantly irritated by people surrounding him, considers you his friend? It means there is something less irritating in you than in others. Well, it is good enough for me. Always.

"Sherlock, there are so many things I would like to tell you..."

You look vulnerable, the look on your face tells me you want to hear them all but we don't have time for that. Not anymore. You look over my shoulder and I don't need to turn around, I understand.

They are behind us, even if I think we are out of earshot, we are not.

I want to tell you that I will miss you but Mary and Mycroft are behind us, listening to every word, despite the howling wind around.

I want to tell you that I will never forget you but Mary and Mycroft are behind us.

I want to tell you how much you changed my miserable life but Mary and Mycroft are behind us and you know that already.

I want to tell you how much you mean to me and how tired I am of denying the feelings I have towards you but Mary and Mycroft are behind us.

I want to tell you that you are my mind palace, you would understand that analogy but Mary and Mycroft are behind us.

I want to be woken up in the middle of the night by your violin.

I want to hold your hand while we drive taxi to the next location, where Greg Lestrade is already awaiting us, standing by the police tape, scratching his head.

I want to hear your deductions about Donovan sleeping with Anderson again.

I want to kiss you.

Hold you.

I am so tired of hiding and pretending.

Is this how all those kids feel when they discover their sexuality and there is no one to support them? Do they feel shame like I did when the first time thought of hugging and kissing you occurred to me? It shouldn't, but it did. I am so sorry.

Oh my God, Sherlock, I want you. And I can't have you.

It hurts when you just smile one last time and reach out a hand towards me to shake it.

There is a part of me that hopes you understand. That you know what I want to say... and even smaller part wishing for you to feel the same.

We had a really bad timing I guess. Could have been better. But that's okay now. It is what it is.

I shake your hand firmly, to make sure I sense your warmth for the next hour or so on my palm.

I feel your thumb stroking gently dorsal part of my hand, making circles. Oh my-

Your touch resonates through my body along the spine straight to the brain, which considers this impulse to be enough to release monthly supply of dopamine into my blood system making me high.

I know you can take my pulse, you always do that when you have an opportunity and I have no clue why. Maybe it's your way of finding out about feelings, physical attraction or just some kind of body reflexes. I'm an ordinary doctor, all I know is a medical aspect of it but nothing is just the way it is for you, isn't it?

I copy your movement if that's how it's going to work. This is what my feelings have been reduced to. Stroking your hand. I feel sick.

Your eyes glisten, full of understanding. Is this satisfying for you? It's not for me. Not at all.

But you seem pleased. It's all about the truth in the end, right? Nothing satisfies you more than knowing the truth. There you have it. Your truth. My truth.

You nod. I respond with the same. We let go. One, two, three steps back and you turn around, all I can see is your black coat fluttering in the wind and dark curls above it.

My hand in your hair, fingers between your curls. Sherl-

Lips moving against each other in a dance called desire. Your nails digging into my shoulder blades to pull me closer. God, Sherlock.

You give me one last reassuring look before you disappear on the board of the plane.

I scream inside my head so loud I've lost my voice.

It's my turn to take a few steps back or else I will end up under wheels of your aeroplane. Well, you are a Drama Queen, you would love the symbolism.

A stewardess closes the door and soon after we can hear the engines starting to work. Mary takes my hand. Left one. The right one is yours, I can still feel your touch.

She asks me if I am alright. No. I don't think so. No. But I say I'm fine. The biggest lie we tell every day.

How are you? _Fine_.

Like there is no other proper answer to that question. Or maybe it's not the answer we have a problem with. Maybe that's about the question. Do we want to hear a real answer? Do you want to listen about how screwed up people's lives can be? I bet you don't.

So I say I am fine. It's easier that way.

I look at Mycroft. He is sad. He will miss you, even though he would never say it out loud.

You have such a weird bond, but then I think about Harry and I come to the conclusion that maybe it's not that weird after all.

Suddenly I am mad at him. Is this the best he can do? Sentence you to death in the middle of nowhere, without anyone caring about you by your side?

He likes to say he is the British Government, is this the best they can do? After all those things you did for them, it would be nice to be a little bit more grateful.

I think I would prefer you ending up in jail, where we could still see each other at least.

Wow, how selfish of me. I should be ashamed.

You in captivity? I can't imagine it, no... you are made to be free, shoot at the wall, play the violin in the middle of the night, beat up corpses before the breakfast. It would kill you.

I am tired, Sherlock.

I sit in my armchair, opposite of you. You think, your hands under your chin. I am used to the fact that you might look at me while thinking. I don't mind.

I could always sit on the couch to avoid it but I enjoy it. I sometimes look back at you also there are times I am too tired to play this game and I just go to my bed upstairs wishing you won't stay up all night. You need to sleep. But from time to time I just look back at you.

The chair is empty now. I am left with my thoughts.

The plane moves from its place and I squeeze my eyelids. I can't bear to look at it. I didn't even say goodbye and it's too late to stop the plane, to touch you one more time.

Promise me something, Sherlock. Promise me that you will let me go, that you will never _ever_ occur in my mind especially at night when Mary is sleeping beside me. That every time I sip my coffee or tea I won't think of you sitting opposite of me, drinking from your mug. You never told me you liked my tea or coffee but the fact that you drank it was enough for me. We learnt to communicate without words and when the realization of our bond hits me I almost forget how to breathe. Again.

You can't promise me shit. It's up to me and I know it. And if it's up to me, then I know I will think about you. At first in every minute, then every hour.

Six months from now I will get drunk, thinking about you dying somewhere in Belarus or Ukraine. Maybe after a year, I'm going to think about you only between my shifts at the clinic on my way home. Then only at night when everything is quiet around me. Your face will slowly fade from my memory, your deep voice disappearing, evaporating because I can't make myself to imagine you talking to me, caressing my face.

Your plane takes off. That's it. After all those years this is it. I feel something trembling inside me but my hands are still. It's my soul, someone tore it apart, left the rest of it to rot inside me.

Do you feel it too, Sherlock? Up in the sky? Or you just confuse it with the change of pressure?

God, I feel alone.

Mycroft makes a step forward, nodding towards us as he makes his way back to the black car. Right, there is nothing between us without Sherlock. Goodbye to you too, Mycroft.

I got used to him and his unexpected visits when England is about to fall and he needs your help. Even if I don't find him the best company in the world and there were moments when I wanted to just punch him in the face... I think he loves you, maybe just as much as I love you.

We should get going, it's getting colder and wind in the open space is unbearable. Mary clings to my side not saying a word. She knows I am hurting and don't want to talk about it. This is why I proposed to her, she could stand the silence and my bursts of anger. Sometimes I talked about you for hours and she just listened, never complained. I love her, I do.

"But?" You appear next to me and again I almost forget you are not here.

You know but out of nowhere, you want to hear me say it. Why?

But I love you more and I just need to get over it. Let you go like I never really did. I couldn't. Now I have to. I must. No choice left.

Mycroft's car stops abruptly and he gets out. He is on the phone, a mixture of shock and fear on his face, furrowed brows.

My first thought is about your plane, that it crashed or you got killed on the board. I feel cold sweat on my back. Please no, I was supposed to have six months to acknowledge your loss. Not now. Please, Sherlock.

Or maybe you are not on the plane anymore, one of your tricks to escape this cage your brother put you in. I would never underestimate you, not after...

We take closer steps, to find out what is wrong. I would rather know this time, you would be proud.

I let go of Mary and l look at your brother expectantly. Tell me, Mycroft. I need to know!

"What's wrong?" words leave my mouth before I can stop them. He's going to tell me anyway, that's why he turned around.

And just like that, he pronounces a name I thought I would never hear again.

"Moriarty... he... he is back" the first wave of a shock seems to lose control over your brother when he looks at me and then back at the phone.

 _Shit_.

**Author's Note:**

> So, that was my first Johnlock story and I hope there is no errors because I'm not a native speaker, feel free to point them out.  
> I AM PLANNING TO CONTINUE THIS ONE SHOT, SO STAY TUNED! Probably the one shot and the fix-it are going to be a series to keep it in order.  
> I'll inform about continuation on my tumblr: so-damn-confused.tumblr.com
> 
> Anyway, hope you liked that <3 Till the next time. CHECK MY OTHER WORKS. More coming.


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